A Wild Card Kiss

by Lauren Blakely

  An idea bursts before me, bright and powerful.

  “Rip it off,” I urge.

  He lifts one questioning brow. “You want me to tear off your dress? You sure?”

  The idea takes a delicious, cathartic hold of me. I need this. I have to have it. I grab a handful of the chiffon skirt. “I’m not wearing this again. I promise.”

  “Do you want to sell it?”

  Just like I need to have him tonight, I need him to shred this dress from my body. “No. I want you to tear it off me.”

  He gives a slow and sexy shrug. “What the lady wants . . .”

  My shirtless football player fireman closes the distance, spins me around, sets his big hands on my back.

  I shiver in anticipation.

  This want feels exhilarating.

  Necessary too.

  I draw a breath, waiting for him to tug the fabric in one rip. His hands clasp around the top of the chiffon.

  But instead, soft lips whisper across my skin.

  “Oh God,” I gasp, unbidden.

  Unexpectedly.

  His mouth travels across my back, dusting reverent, open-mouthed caresses along my body. I arch into his touch, craving more. “Yes,” I murmur.

  He roams along my skin to my shoulder, presses a hungrier kiss right there, then coasts those decadent lips over my neck. “Mmm. You taste delicious,” he says.

  I shudder as a pulse beats between my legs.

  This man does things to me. He has since the night I met him. And he seems to sense my needs before I’m even fully aware of them.

  Like he knew I needed gentle, tender kisses first.

  He picks up the pace, kissing me harder, rougher. Then digging his teeth into my shoulder. I cry out as he bites me, tossing my head back as the ache turns both sweet and sharp.

  “Mmm. You still like biting, I see.”

  “From you,” I add, since that feels important. I want him to know that he brings out this feral cat in me, who likes to play and nip. With Harlan, I seem to possess an animalistic desire to tussle.

  “Is that so? You saved your biting for me, sweetheart?”

  “I did,” I answer as he lifts his face, then returns his hands to the top of my dress. He gives a gentle tug at first. “Ready?”

  Funny, I want the ripping off of my dress even more now that he’s marked my back with his sweet, greedy kisses.

  Harlan wraps his fingers around the chiffon, then gives a fast, powerful jerk.

  The sound of fabric tearing rends the air.

  And heats my core.

  Holy shit.

  It worked.

  I gaze down at the top, hanging at my waist in tatters. I’m wearing only a lace bustier and the bottom half of my wedding dress. “Mmm. Gorgeous,” he murmurs against my neck. “Want more?”

  “All the way,” I say, breathless, urging him on. Pleasure rattles through me, as he bends lower, one knee on the floor, then gives another hard tug.

  Rip!

  The white chiffon pools at my feet in pieces.

  I turn around, wearing only the lace corset, a garter, and white, barely-there panties.

  His eyes glimmer with desire. “Edible, sweetheart. You’re so damn edible,” he says, groaning in wanton appreciation.

  His heated gaze sends pleasure spinning in me, dampening my panties so they’re nearly soaked.

  I slide my teeth along the corner of my mouth. “Then maybe eat me,” I suggest, since I’m helpful like that.

  “I’ve been waiting seven years to taste your sweetness.”

  His hands slink around my back once more, and he unhooks my bustier. It falls to the floor and the groan that comes from him officially turns me into a hot, wet mess.

  Exactly how I want to be right now.

  But there’s one more thing I want too. “What do you say we go for full-frontal nudity? From both of us,” I offer, gesturing to him, still clothed in pants.

  “I say yes, since you’re better than my wildest fantasies,” he says, staring shamelessly. His eat-me-alive gaze makes my skin sizzle.

  In seconds, I slip off my panties. His clothes hit the floor, his cock springing free.

  Oh yes.

  He is mine tonight—all those yummy inches.

  With hooded eyes, he takes a step closer, reaches for my garter, and slides it down my leg. “Everything off.”

  I step out of the garter, officially done with my wedding clothes.

  Harlan flops down on the bed. “Now, come sit on my face.”

  Happy Just-Escaped-Marriage Day to me, indeed.

  8

  Harlan

  I need to distract Katie completely from her day.

  And I intend to do that with my tongue.

  “Get up here now, woman. I am starving for you,” I tell her as she straddles me, and I grab her hips.

  With a laugh, she says, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  “No, that’s what you’ll be doing in a couple minutes.”

  She climbs up my body, naked and glorious, her fantastic tits bouncing, her soft skin glowing in the moonlight.

  “Let’s see about that,” she teases as she reaches my shoulders.

  I loop my arms around her, grab her ass, tug her close. “You doubt me? I can’t wait to prove you wrong. You’ll be coming in three minutes, sweetheart,” I tell her, then give her no time to protest as I bring her sweet, wet pussy to my face.

  I inhale the intoxicating scent of this aroused woman, and the first taste of her is incredible. My eyes roll back in my head, and I groan so damn loud. She’s sweet and salty and sexy.

  “You’re so wet,” I tell her, stating the patently obvious but sometimes it needs to be stated.

  “Seems you turn me on,” she says, then presses her hands to the headboard and rocks.

  Oh yes.

  Fuck my face, babycakes.

  Fuck me hard and good.

  Only I can’t say any of that out loud since my lips are so damn busy with a fantastic pussy right now.

  My hands curl around her hips, and I rock her back and forth over my mouth, devouring her sweetness, tasting her wonderful heat.

  The woman is silky and hot.

  And . . . it turns out . . . loud.

  “Oh God,” she whimpers as she rocks shamelessly against my face. “Yes . . . please . . . more.”

  I’ve got a live wire here.

  With a firm grip, I lavish love on her center, my tongue flicking against the delicious rise of her clit.

  “Yes, oh God, yes. I love that, love it so much,” she gasps.

  My entire body goes up in flames.

  Heat licks every corner of me as Katie goes to town on my face.

  She’s losing her mind, shedding any inhibition as she rides me like I’m her bucking bronco.

  Yee-fucking-haw.

  My hands clamp down on those hips as I lick and suck and French kiss her until she’s tossing her head back and shouting my name.

  Harlan, oh God, Harlan.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  Her words turn into a dirty chant. A wild desperate plea.

  And I’m so goddamn happy as I rise to the occasion of my sex superhero calling, devouring her till she’s breaking apart on me.

  Grabbing the headboard, she tenses. Everything goes on a sensual, heady pause. Until . . . “Yes!”

  She starts up again, trembling, as she rides my face through her orgasm, her taste flooding my tongue.

  Prides suffuses me, and wild desire too, infusing every damn cell.

  I hold her tight as she pants and moans. As she comes down, I gently lift her off my face, setting her next to me on the bed.

  A few seconds later, I stretch over her, pressing my hard cock against her soft stomach. “Want to make you come again, sweetheart,” I say, pushing, rubbing, letting her know how hard I am.

  “Yes, please, now.”

  I reach an arm to the nightstand, grab a condom from the drawer.

  When I return to the beauty, she slide
s a hand down her body, traveling between her tits, heading for her mound. She parts her legs wide for me.

  “Fucking beautiful,” I moan in appreciation as I settle between those toned thighs.

  “So are you,” she says, reaching for my chest, her expression lust drunk, like she’s still high on her first orgasm.

  I roll on the condom, then rub the head of my cock against her slick heat. She arches, her body begging, her voice husky.

  My dick throbs with anticipation.

  But before I push in, I wiggle a brow. “So, how about an I told you so? That was less than three minutes.”

  Her grin is electric. “You’re right. You’re so damn right. You’re so fucking right. Now give me that fine dick and give it to me hard.”

  And I’m positive God is a Renegades fan and rewarding me for that last Super Bowl win.

  Because this is heaven.

  I slide inside, her heat welcoming me as I fill her to the hilt.

  Her breath hitches. Mine escapes my lungs in a shuddery gasp.

  Because she is divine. “You feel incredible.” I grunt, savoring the tight warmth of her body.

  Wrapping her legs around my ass, she whispers, “So do you.”

  She loops her hands around my neck and draws me closer. She’s all vulnerable as she asks, “Will you kiss me?”

  Wherever are my manners? I haven’t kissed the woman tonight. “Shame on me for not kissing your lips before your sweet pussy.”

  “Shame indeed,” she teases.

  As I swivel my hips and drive into her, I drop my mouth to hers, catching her lips with mine. My eyes close and we get lost in each other.

  Our tongues explore.

  Lips slide.

  Mouths tangle.

  She lets out a sensual sigh. “Mmm yes,” she murmurs as I deepen the kiss.

  “So good,” I whisper, savoring her mouth as I fill her body.

  We kiss as we fuck.

  Long, slow indulgent kisses mixed with passionate thrusts.

  It’s the perfect pace. Limbs tangled together, bodies connected, breath coming fast.

  She bows her back, arching with me, moving like water as I take my time, enjoying this delicious, lingering rhythm.

  A pace that soon seems to drive her wild.

  She moans as she jerks me closer, wraps those long, toned legs around my body, rocking up with me. She’s so in tune with herself. So connected with her own pleasure. It’s incredible to watch her move, to feel her let go.

  Her ankles hook around my ass, tugging me even deeper. A hot spike of lust shoots down my spine. “Mmm. Use me, sweetheart,” I rasp in her ear, bracing myself on my forearms, my chest sliding against her firm tits.

  “I am, oh God, I am,” she murmurs, her fingers playing with the ends of my hair. “Deeper,” she begs.

  I love it when a woman asks for exactly what she wants—and when I can give it to her. I ease out, nearly all the way, then drive back into her.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she moans, stretching her neck.

  “You want me to fuck you good and hard?”

  “I do, yes, I do.”

  “Then let me put you on your hands and knees.”

  Her eyes sparkle with dirty yeses.

  In seconds we scramble around, shifting position. The beautiful woman lifts her hips, and I slide back home.

  Stilling myself as her body hugs me.

  Then I roam my hand up her back, grip her shoulder, and pin her in place as I fuck her deep and hard, with powerful, long thrusts that make her shake with pleasure.

  She drops down to her elbows, and in seconds, she’s gasping again.

  Groaning.

  Then shouting my name once more.

  “Oh God, yes, oh God yes,” she moans, tensing, and a climax seems to tear through her body.

  That’s enough for me.

  It trips my wires, and pleasure seizes me, taking me captive. I come hard.

  The aftershocks radiate spectacularly through every damn cell in my body.

  I dip my face, giving her a little bite on the shoulder.

  “Mmm, nibble on me,” she murmurs.

  I nip her once more.

  She laughs lightly. It’s a great sound, and it makes me smile.

  I roll to my side and ease out of her. “I’ve wanted to do that with you for more than seven years.”

  She turns her gaze to me. Her eyes are etched with happiness, but it reads a little temporary. “When I woke up this morning, this wasn’t how I expected tonight to go,” she admits with a touch of sadness.

  My shoulders tense. Is she about to gather her things and fly out of here? I don’t want her to go. But then, she can’t truly take off. She has nothing to wear.

  Hazards of jilted bride sex, it seems.

  Still, I want her to want to be here.

  I didn’t expect to feel so much want. Not tonight, and not of that variety.

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” I say with sympathy. That’s the reality of her day, and I can’t escape it.

  Hell, she can’t truly escape it.

  She was dumped on her wedding day.

  My stresses are nothing compared to hers.

  “But,” she adds, running her fingers down my arm, “I’m weirdly, strangely glad I’m here.”

  A smile tips my lips.

  All things considered, that’s as good as it gets with compliments on a day like today.

  And I’ll take what I can get from her.

  Oh yes, I will.

  After we clean up, I bring her back to bed, nuzzling her neck. “Do you have to go?”

  I hope she says no. I really want her to stay. It’s been a while. A long while. No one’s spent the night in ages, and having a woman in my arms feels too damn good.

  No, that’s not it.

  Having Katie in my arms feels great.

  She props her head in her hand. Fear flickers across those pretty eyes—worry too. “Do you want me to go?”

  I hate what she’s been through. That it may make her doubt . . . everything. “Hell, no. I want you to stay.” I can give her that much—the truth, something her slimeball of an ex couldn’t muster up.

  “And I definitely want you to spend the night,” I add, even as nerves prickle along my skin.

  What the hell? I’m not a guy who feels nerves. But I do with her, and I think I know why. She’s tough on the outside, using her humor as a shield, her sex appeal as a source of strength. She’s all confidence and guts, but she’s also remarkably fragile.

  I don’t want to take advantage of her.

  I don’t want to be the kind of guy I was raised by.

  Don’t want to be the bad guy. That’s my worry—the possibility that I could hurt her.

  She’s had more than enough of that lately.

  “You want me to stay?” She sounds like she can’t believe her luck.

  “I sure as hell do.” I sit up. “Wait, are you hungry? I haven’t fed you. I should be ashamed of myself.”

  Her stomach rumbles. “I am hungry, and I want to stay.”

  With a smile, I swing my legs out of bed, stare at the wedding dress in tatters on the floor, then grab a T-shirt from a drawer and hand it to her.

  She pulls it on, swimming in it. “How do I look?”

  “Good enough to eat again.” And that’s the truth too.

  After I tug on boxer briefs, we head downstairs, where I whip up scrambled eggs.

  “You can cook,” she says, whistling in admiration as she sits on a stool at the island counter.

  “Isn’t that like the equivalent of saying I can put down the toilet seat? Seems a basic skill.”

  She shrugs. “You’d be surprised.”

  I throw her a dubious glance. “Don’t tell me Mister Jackass didn’t cook?”

  “Didn’t cook. Didn’t clean either.”

  I groan. Men. What is wrong with some of them? “Well, I have a person to cook for.”

  She sighs softly. “Tell me more about Abby. W
hat she’s like?”

  A smile takes over my face. “Are you trying to win my heart? Asking me to talk about my little lady? Well, if you insist,” I say, with an of course I’ll go on and on shrug. “She’s feisty and snuggly and smart. She wants to get a dog, but that’s hard with me being on the road. She’d take a cat though, she says. Or a hedgehog, if that’s easier.”

  “Are hedgehogs easier on the road?”

  I stop, raising the red plastic spatula, wondering what the hell the answer is to that. “You know, I have no idea about the care and feeding of hedgehogs. But I know this. She wants to name it Dolly. Cat, dog, or hedgie.”

  Her eyes pop. “Shut the front door. She’s a Dolly Parton fan?”

  I give her a look, complete with a full-on eye roll. “As if she’d be anything but. My kid has taste, Katie.”

  Katie’s eyes twinkle, and I want to keep putting that light there. “The best taste,” she says.

  “No doubt. And hey, I’d still think she was the bomb even if she loved Green Day or Nickelback but whew.” I stop to wipe a hand across my brow. “Glad she does not.”

  “Bless her heart,” Katie says, full-on Texas style, then her eyes sweep the kitchen and land on a framed photo of Abby on the edge of the island counter. My little bear is perched in a saddle on a pony, reins in her hands. “That is adorable. Does she want a pony too?”

  “She might have mentioned it. But she says she’ll name it Mia.”

  Katie tilts her head, RCA dog style. “That’s going to need a little more explanation. Not Dolly, or Cinnamon Apple or Midnight Ranger or some other very horse-like name?”

  Ah, this name might open a can of worms. But what’s the harm in bringing it up? I’m not getting my kid a pony, no matter how much of a softie I am. And my kid isn’t getting a sibling from me, so the reason Abby likes the name doesn’t truly matter.

  I turn off the flame, slide the eggs onto a plate. “Apparently, Mia is her dream name for a little sister. She has a half brother, so she says”—I dip into my daughter’s sassy but sweet voice—“if you won’t give me a little sister, I’ll gladly take a pony named Mia instead.”

  An awkward laugh falls from Katie’s lips, but she seems to pull it back quickly, rearranging her features into a gentle smile. “Well, I guess Abby knows what she wants.”